


I Won't Let You Sink

by clockworksilence



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs Therapy, Depressed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Fandom fluff, Fluff, Insecure Booker | Sebastien le Livre, M/M, OT3, One Shot, Pre Canon, Soft Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, fluff with a touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29801589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworksilence/pseuds/clockworksilence
Summary: Water. Seemingly infinite water. Deep, dark, freezing and eternal. The claustrophobia. The metal, sharp, bloodying fists. An eternal cycle of coming and going, fading in and out with no end. Again and again. Every time, a piece of self coming loose and shattering, coming undone and remade into a vessel of rage and destruction…Thousands of miles away, Sebastien wakes from the recurring horror, cold sweat over his body that freezes in the frigid air of a December night in England, gasping for breath...
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, joe x nicky x booker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	I Won't Let You Sink

_Water._ _S_ _eemingly infinite_ _water. Deep, dark, freezing and eternal. The clau_ _s_ _trophobia. The metal,_ _s_ _harp, bloodying fi_ _s_ _t_ _s._ _An eternal cycle of coming and going, fading in and out with no_ _end. Again and again. Every time, a piece of_ _s_ _elf coming loo_ _s_ _e and_ _s_ _hattering, c_ _oming undone and remade into a ve_ _ss_ _el of rage and destruction…_

Thousands of miles away, Sebastien wakes from the recurring horror, cold sweat over his body that freezes in the frigid air of a December night in England, gasping for breath.

The room around him slowly comes into focus and the ripples of water fade into a light blue as pre-dawn creeps through the curtain-less window, casting what little glow it can through his fearful fugue. _It wa_ _s_ _ju_ _s_ _t a dream_ , he internalises, trying to bring him self to centre again. _It wa_ _s_ _ju_ _s_ _t a dream, it wa_ _s_ _ju_ _s_ _t a dream..._

“Quynh?” A voice gently enquires.

The whispered word snaps his attention to his right. Nicolò is eyeing him from the bed across the dark, back room of the dingy flat, worry and care etched into each line of his furrowed brow, visible even in the dim light around them. A light sleeper, he’d easily awoken to the sound of Sebastien twitching in his sleep, tossing as though fighting to get free of an entrapment that didn’t exist—at least not here in London—watching in futility, knowing he could not help.

Sebastien nods, still shaking, trying to catch his breath. He can’t bear the way Nicolò is looking at him, gaze full of concern and heartbreak. Feeling pitiable and pathetic, not wanting to discuss it, he lies back down, rolling away to face the crumbling plaster on the wall, screwing his eyes shut, willing every hateful feeling within him to leave him be.

Nicolò doesn’t see him as pitiable in the least. After all that Sebastien has lost, after over 100 years of nightmares that come and go with no warning or trigger, the only thing he wants is to comfort him. To let him know that he’s not alone and he’s certainly not drowning in anything but his own grief and that he, Yusuf and Andromache can help him if he’ll let them.

He’s verbalised it many times; words that have clearly fallen on deaf ears.

Actions speak infinitely louder.

Nicolò gently extricates himself from Yusuf’s arms – he sleeps like a log, only an earthquake would rouse him sometimes even they might not be enough. Besides, Nicolò justifies, he’s needed more elsewhere right now.

As quietly as possible so as not to break the hush of dawn, he pads across the creaking floorboards, past Andromache’s empty nest of sheets (the flicker of lamplight from the crack in the door beyond suggest she’s fallen asleep elsewhere) and approaches Sebastien, curled up, back towards him.

He doesn’t say a word. He knows Sebastien will have heard him getting nearer. Nicolò crawls into the makeshift bed behind him, wraps an arm around his waist, pulls his chest against Sebastien’s back and holds him close. Sebastien freezes for a moment, confused but not alarmed or concerned.

“Nicolò…?” He begins, but is immediately shushed.

“Go back to sleep,” Nicolò whispers. “You’re safe.”

If there was any protest at all in Sebastien, it vanishes at those words. Nicolò’s calming presence is always a balm but he never knew how much he needed it until that moment. He settles into the embrace, feeling himself relax, the heat emanating from Nicolò’s body against his back beginning to calm him. Sleep creeps over him once more but he doesn’t feel afraid of it. Not this time.

When dawn finally breaks, brilliant and pearly with the winter frost outside, Yusuf awakens and wonders why he feels so chilled. When it strikes him that the steadfast presence of Nicolò is absent, he sits bolt upright, his stomach dropping in alarm.

Only when he looks across the room to see Nicolò not ten feet from him does his heart start again. That he’s in another man’s bed does not alarm him. In fact, as he traipses across the room to take in the scene, it bothers him even less.

They’re both still sleeping, Nicolò’s head resting between Sebastien's shoulders, the arm he has draped over his waist now being held in place with one of the Sebastien’s hands, breathing in sync. They look so peaceful, Yusuf is loathe to wake them.

In spite of the cold air prickling, a warmth slowly radiates through him and he falls in love with Nicolò for the millionth time. If he looked back, he would probably say that was the first time he started falling for Sebastien, too.


End file.
